We met my parents in our kitchen, and excitedly said our goodbyes. They had arrived the night before to watch Jacob while we were in the hospital welcoming our baby.
During my pregnancy, I worked toward a simple vaginal delivery... however, upon the recommendation of my physicians, due to a number of specifics, I accepted the recommendation of a second cesarean. After some initial disappointment, I made peace with that decision and moved all systems go toward the most important thing - welcoming our second child, and welcoming him or her with joy and peace in my heart.
Let's do this.
Our appointment was at 9AM, but we were to arrive at the hospital by 7AM. Scott dropped me off at the front door, and parked the car. We checked in to the nurses station on the Labor floor, and were assigned a wonderful nurse, Natalie, who would calm my nerves and boost my sagging spirits. I signed a million consent forms ("Cesarean's run a risk of blah blah blah").
9AM came... and 9AM went. Our doctor was running late. Around 9:30, the doctor breezed in, and said a few words that I did not want my operating physician to say: "Sorry I'm late... I couldn't get my act together this morning. So, are we just doing a cesarean or are we doing a tubal as well?"
I'm documenting this because... well... it's laughable. I couldn't get over it. It shocked me, and freaked me out. Not the best bedside manner of the woman who was about to operate and help usher my child in to this world.
I shook off my fears, and was told it was time to go. I was wheeled- alone - in to the operating room. (The support person isn't allowed to be present until it's time for surgery to begin). I will spare the medical graphics, but I was given a spinal block, a few other pre-operative details, and then Scott was allowed to come back. I threw up - more than once. (I'm not surprised by this, as I had a similar reaction to the anesthetic during Jacob's birth). I was covered in blankets (the OR was freezing!) and... it began.
I kept staring at Scott, like... THIS IS HAPPENING. OUR CHILD IS ABOUT TO BE BORN. It was surreal and beautiful and terrifying.
The doctor told Scott he could stand up to watch our child breathe their first breath - and he did.
"It's a girl!" which were three of the sweetest words I have ever heard. (For the record, "It's a boy!" were the other three sweetest I've ever heard).
I began screaming - howling - in joy and relief and happiness. I would have been thrilled with any healthy baby - ANY BABY - but the chance to mother a son and a daughter is a privilege I won't ever take for granted.
We named our daughter Ava Jeanne. Ava is a name I've loved for close to 20 years. In high school, I remember saying that if I ever had a daughter, she'd be named Ava, and I'm glad to have a husband who agreed. Jeanne is my middle name, and my grandmother's first name, my aunt's first name. I am thrilled to have another little "Jeanne" in our family.
Our visit was fairly uneventful, and our babies birth was textbook cesarean. I am delighted to live in a time of medical advances which allowed my children and I to have safe, healthy deliveries and so grateful to welcome little Ava in to our lives.